


The Spice of Life

by Beltenebra



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Cooking, M/M, Ohkura is bi, Ohkura/food, Passing Mentions of Sex, Slice of Life, Yasu is a not so tortured artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beltenebra/pseuds/Beltenebra
Summary: Confucius once said that the way you cut your meat reflects the way you live. Ohkura reflects on cooking, food, and other marginally less important aspects of the universe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for K8 Exchange 2010.

Ohkura had always loved food. This came as no surprise to him. Growing up in a restaurant family, it was completely natural to him to spend most of his free time in one kitchen or another. They were the touchstones of his young life: his grandmother's airy, blue kitchen overlooking the southern ocean, strung up with fish caught by his grandfather and filled with the smells of the sea; the long, smooth counter and deep bubbling pots of broth in narrow kitchen of his uncle's ramen shop; and of course, the glow of banked coals and heady aromas of his parents' yakitori grills.

He knew that someday he would preside over a kitchen. He always assumed he would take over his father's restaurant someday but by the time he was in secondary school that one tiny shop had become the jewel in the center of a successful chain. His father told him that he could start learning the business if he wanted to but if he took the helm, a business is exactly what he would be running. He would be a restaurant owner, not a chef. His father correctly read the panic in his eyes and suggested that he might look into formal culinary training instead.

A few months, and a grueling entrance examination culminating in the demonstration of a randomly chosen, but thankfully relatively simple, Japanese classic, later found him laden with bags and standing in front of his assigned dorm building at the Osaka University of Arts. His room was on the third floor; it was a pain dragging his things up the steps but he was slightly mollified to find it was a corner room and a little bigger than the other rooms on the hall.

The room was empty of everything except the standard institutional furniture (bed, most likely too short for his long legs, beaten up desk, chest of drawers) when he got there. He had just set his last box down on the bed closest to the window when a short blond burst into the room. The boy had bright shaggy hair, a huge grin, and a questionable definition of acceptable leg wear for college aged males. Ohkura was sure he was wearing girl's leggings under his long tunic shirt. He introduced himself as Yasuda Shota, (but you should call me Yasu!), he was a fine arts major and they would be roommates for the first year. Ohkura supposed that would go a long way towards explaining any weirdness- his eighteen years of life experience told him that artists were supposed to be quirky.

Yasu was content to chatter away about his family, his dog, his hopes for classes, and a whole flock of other subjects while they unpacked and he didn't seem to mind at all that Ohkura spent most of the conversation nodding or offering monosyllabic noises of agreement. He enjoyed Yasu's chatter, found it calming as he let it flow around him like pleasant background music. They bonded the first week griping about the lack of space for their equipment (stacks upon stacks of tablets and boxes of pencils, paints, and various small tools for Yasu, a pile of cook books and a box of knives and a different selection of tools for Ohkura), and roamed the neighborhood streets in the evenings searching out small eateries.

The first semester whirled by in a haze of settling in and the first round of classes and carving out their own places in the campus community. Ohkura found a lot of his fellow culinary students to be kind of obnoxious and he tended to avoid them when he could. He knew that you had to be ruthless and competitive to succeed in the professional restaurant business but he just couldn't see the point of continuing their rivalries outside of the school's gleaming kitchens. He preferred to save his energy for class and relax in his off-time; he firmly believed that most of his classmates were too intense for their own good. Which was probably why the school chose to pair roommates from different concentrations. The time he spent with Yasu in their room was blissfully free of intense discussions about knife skills and fish scaling techniques.

The end of the term crept up quickly. One afternoon about two weeks before summer break Ohkura was folded into a mildly uncomfortable position on a corner of his bed (it's the best light in the room!) as Yasu sketched him; the quick, sure movements of his hand causing charcoal dust to puff up in little clouds. He looked over at his desk, cluttered with small cooking appliances, his brow wrinkled as he thought about this morning's failed attempt to perfect his vegetable stock recipe in his surely against-regulations hotpot and casually asked Yasu what he thought about looking for an apartment off-campus.

His roommate's blinding grin crinkled up the corners of his eyes and although he didn’t look up from his paper for more than a second Ohkura knew he was pleased. 

~~~~~~~~

They met up again the last few weeks of summer break to look for new living quarters. Yasu's cheerful conversational skills paid off on the second day in the form of a lead on a great place that he heard about while chatting up a woman in the grocery store. A few hours and a quick phone call later and the two of them were standing in the kitchen of an apartment that was more or less the second floor of an older house. The bedrooms were on the cramped side but the kitchen was unusually spacious, plenty of counter space and a sturdy table set before a large, sunny window. Ohkura and Yasu traded elated grins and asked how quickly they could move in.

Yasu called his new boyfriend and some of his friends to help them move in their things along with some second-hand furniture they bought in town. Subaru, a music and composition student, was equally diminutive to Yasu in stature but much more laid-back. His eyes twinkled with quiet humor once he got over his shyness. He and Yasu interacted with a warmth and sweetness that belied the fact that they had only been together for a few weeks. The three of them celebrated their successful move in with a quick stir-fried noodle dish that Ohkura chose mostly because he only needed to unpack enough to get to his wok to make it.

The cheerful sound of cold bottles of beer and warm clay bowls clinking and Yasu's giggle filled the room. Ohkura leaned back, his full stomach making him pleasantly drowsy, watching Yasu and Baru laugh and attempt to steal tidbits out of each other's bowl and admiring the way the lights made the pale yellow walls of the room glow. It was the first kitchen he could reasonably call his own. It already felt like home.

~~~~~~~~

Autumn brought new classes and an immense variety of seasonal produce to integrate into dishes. He forced himself to get up extra early on Saturday mornings; bundling himself up in worn jeans and his favorite thick, grey sweater, he would take a basket and meander a few blocks into town to peruse the farmers' market. As much as he bemoaned the loss of a few extra hours in his warm bed, he enjoyed the quiet of the blue and silent sunrise over the morning streets. Sometimes fog would lay lightly over dewy grass not quite cold enough to be frosted.

Warming his hands on a cup of coffee from the stall on the corner, he took his time marveling at the variety of green, orange, and yellow squash. Root vegetables were stacked in high pyramids and he slurped his drink as quickly as he could without burning his tongue to free his hands so he could fill his basket. 

Yasu helped him unpack it later that afternoon; rearranging the vegetables into an attractive sprawl and sketching them for a still life project, racing to get the forms and details on paper before Ohkura plucked them off the pile for chopping. A small mountain of carrots, onions, tomatoes, and beef went into the pot. He spent the next few hours monitoring the concoction, tasting and making adjustments using the myriad bottles and jars of ingredients that crowded the counter by the stove top. Yasu sniffed hopefully at the fragrant air around three but Ohkura just smiled smugly and told him that especially good things took time- he would have to wait a while longer for proper Hayashi Rice.

When the golden afternoon started to darken into twilight he heated butter for a roux and told Yasu he should call some of their friends over for dinner. Even with a few extra people, they'd be eating the leftovers for days- good thing stews and curries tended to improve in flavor over time. Subaru brought his guitar, a few bottles of wine, and someone from his composition class. Nishikido Ryo was initially soft spoken but more than a little sarcastic after a few glasses of wine. Ohkura especially liked his guileless surprise when he tasted dinner, eyes going wide with genuine shock as he proclaimed it to be delicious. He preened under the praise; maybe he was susceptible to handsome men complimenting his cooking but who wouldn't be?

They spent a pleasant couple of hours after dinner talking about school, bitching about their respective programs, professors, and classmates. The musicians were pretentious and the culinary students too driven, but Yasu won the round with a series of stories about fellow students trying to pass off craziness as "artistic vision" (I mean, you really have to become talented and well known to pull that off, right? You can't just go straight through to eccentricity and skip the actual gaining of skills!). Later Ohkura prodded Subaru into playing for them, claiming it was a fair trade for dinner. The four of them sat around singing only a little drunkenly along to everything from current pop songs to childhood lullabies.

When Yasu and Baru had finally been prodded out of their tangle of limbs on the couch and shoved in the direction of Yasu's room, Ryo kept Ohkura company in the kitchen, helping with the dishes as Ohkura packed up leftovers and reordered his spice cabinet. Ohkura's foggy brain registered that Ryo's sleepy voice was warm and smoky like his father's favorite scotch. He directed Ryo towards the couch for the night and fell asleep in a warm haze of wine, comfort food, and good company.

~~~~~~~~

Ohkura knew he was incredibly lucky to be studying something he loved. It didn’t mean he always had to be happy about it. 

His last review had revealed that his instructors were impressed by his skill and budding ingenuity but that they thought he was a bit on the lazy side. They wanted to see him take more initiative in his training. So in a fit of something he signed himself up for a supplemental course in the fundamentals of French cuisine. 

Fundamentals in this case had not meant ‘the beginner’s bits’, oh no, they meant the foundations, the processes that shored up the traditions of French cooking. He learned how to make consomme and aspic from scratch, (although why anyone thought meat jelly was a good idea was completely beyond him), he struggled through plucking and boning a whole duck, he actually managed a passable souffle on his first attempt, but then he was faced with the eggs. 

Poaching is one of the five basic French cooking techniques, the instructor had informed them, and it was simply unthinkable that anyone with training would be unable to produce something as simple as a perfectly poached egg. He was well aware that a poached egg was a simple concept from the view of the diner but that did not mean it was at all simple to produce. 

An entire afternoon session went by without seeing him achieve acceptable results. Some of his classmates slid curious glances over at his station as his normal even-tempered focus was shattered with every egg that dispersed in a liquid mess in the water or ended up a sad, overcooked lump. The instructor finally shooed him out at the end of class with a pat on the shoulder and the platitude that no one could possibly master everything right away and maybe he should try it again on Monday. 

He tried to let it go, he really did. But he swore the eggs were laughing at him. He found himself sitting bolt upright in bed and squinting at the digital readout of his clock. 11:38. Pushing thoughts of his early nutrition class to the back of his mind, he shoved his feet into soft slippers. He had exactly twenty-two minutes to poach an egg. It counted as right away if it was still the same day, right? 

His water and vinegar mixture had just started to bubble gently when Yasu wandered into the room rubbing his eyes. His roommate raised an eyebrow in inquiry and chuckled softly when Ohkura explained the situation, amused at the circumstances that coaxed Ohkura’s seldom seen stubbornness into play. Yasu edged around him, puttering and making tea, keeping him quiet and unassuming company as he cracked egg after egg. 

Finally, he flicked his wrist just right and lifted the egg out of liquid. It looked right, he held his breath as he laid it gently on a waiting paper towel and cracked another egg, hopefully the last one. After all, you could not legitimately claim to have learned something if you couldn’t produce results twice in a row. His crow of triumph was soft so as not to startle his roommate snoozing at the table, head pillowed on sweatshirt clad arms. Yasu was really cute when he slept but it didn’t keep Ohkura from prodding him awake and pushing a plate across the battered wooden table, instructing him to eat the poached egg nestled on a slice of buttered toast. 

They cut into the eggs and the yolk ran golden and silky onto the bread. He was just in time at 11:58. Yasu commented that it was a little earlier than they usually had breakfast but it made up for it in quality; they shared strong tea and sleepy grins before going back to bed like any other Thursday night. 

~~~~~~~~

He was heading home after a party, making his way from campus and enjoying the way the cheerful noises of students celebrating yet another weekend slowly dwindled as his footsteps carried him away. When he announced he was leaving, Baru had subtly squawked his surprise that Ohkura was leaving alone and jerked his head suggestively towards a knot of pretty girls they had been chatting up earlier. Ohkura had just smiled, mimed snoring, and made his way out into the night, enjoying the quiet. 

He was a pretty private person but he was fairly popular with the opposite sex. He knew he was pretty good looking and it meant that he never had to work very hard to find someone to share his bed, should he want it. He enjoyed sex as much as the next healthy male, who was usually Yasu, so a lot. But he tended to think about it a little differently; he was sure most people would consider it kind of strange how thoughts about flavors crept into his even this aspect of his life. 

He didn’t want food to have anything to do with the act of sex but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about those girls like sweet, bright fruits to be sampled; the fresh faint sea tang of a girl on his tongue, the salt skin of her neck under his lips. He had dated casually the first couple of semesters. If it had only been about sex and companionship, it would be one thing but most of the girls he met wanted more than he was willing to give at the moment and he didn’t want to hurt anyone by being less than forthcoming about his intentions. 

Much later, tangled up in his sheets watching the moonlight creep across the ceiling he found himself wondering if he should have taken Baru’s suggestion after all. Still, he reflected, girls weren’t the only option. Ohkura considered himself as much an omnivore when it came to bedfellows as when it came to food. He could never understand people who chose only to eat fish or meat, surely they must not realize how many experiences they were missing out on by excluding an entire realm of taste. What would that make vegetarians then? People who had sworn off of sex altogether? He couldn’t decide what would be worse, never having sex again or being forbidden to have meat. And _vegans_ , even worse. 

He chuckled to himself as the analogy broke down and his thoughts wandered back to his initial premise. He knew nothing involving human interactions would ever be quite as simple as preferring meat or fish but he often thought that people would be surprised by how much they liked something if they were only adventurous enough to try it. 

Eventually, sleep crept in through the cracks and broke down the tension, letting him drift off. It didn’t keep him from dreaming about a low voice, dark eyes, and musician’s hands slightly roughened with calluses but Ohkura didn’t mind. 

~~~~~~~~

Yasu took a course in color theory and one of his assignments was to limit his clothing choices to one color family for a week. Which given the amount of things crowding his closet and jamming his drawers, (and one or two of Ohkura’s), would be a snap. Ohkura was sure he wouldn’t have a problem only wearing shades of blue for seven days. 

Ryo had taken to spending more of his free time in the evenings in their apartment, taking over ownership of one end of the couch and the extra X-Box remote when Ohkura felt like being social, and taking over a corner of the kitchen table with his books and sheet music when he didn’t. Ohkura liked to watch the way Ryo settled into his kitchen, his space effortlessly. Jotting things down in notation books and bobbing his head along to whatever was playing through his noise cancelling headphones, the ones that Ohkura wouldn’t admit out loud made him look professional and really kind of cool. 

They had settled into a comfortable vibe; they could have great conversations but Ohkura didn’t feel compelled to talk. He found Ryo relaxing in a way similar to Yasu except that with the musician there was always a faint undercurrent of tension. The good kind that made you shiver pleasantly when someone smiled at you or sat close enough to brush shoulders. On at least three occasions he had turned from the stove or counter to direct a comment to Ryo and found the shorter man staring at him, only to avert his eyes and blush when Ohkura met his eyes. 

The musician loved everything that Ohkura cooked that wasn’t fish, (a fact that amused Ohkura to no end but he refused to explain why he laughed every time Ryo asserted his distaste for it), and that was enough to endear someone to him. That coupled with the ease of spending time with Ryo more or less secured Ohkura’s interest in potentially pursuing something more than friendship but he wasn’t quite ready to push the issue yet. He preferred to wait for ideal circumstances; it would only be a matter of time. 

Two weeks after the end of his assignment Yasu was still wearing blue. He claimed that Picasso had a stunning blue period and following such an illustrious example couldn’t hurt. Ohkura contended that he was probably trying to see just how many days in a row he could wear all blue without repeating an outfit. 

His roommate paused in his attempt to badger Ryo into letting him paint his portrait as a “struggling musician in blue” to inform Ohkura that he should be a good friend and support his efforts in the form of a blue meal preferably blueberry pancakes. Yasu’s affronted expression when Ohkura informed him that there was only one naturally occurring blue food and blueberries were actually purple was pretty entertaining. (They _lied_ to us?!) He told them about a strain of potatoes that were an incredible shade of robin’s egg blue but unfortunately quite difficult to obtain. He had seen them but had never had the chance to work with them.

A few days later he was making Yasu blueberry pancakes anyway and the blond was pouting about the enforced end of his latest obsession. Apparently his professor told him he could paint in blue for as long as he liked but if he showed up to class dressed monochromatically again the prof would fling some red paint on him just for variation. Ohkura surmised that it was probably for the best; after all, wouldn’t his other clothes start to feel neglected? Yasu was just opening his mouth to utter what Ohkura was positive was going to be a horrible joke when Ryo slouched into the kitchen carrying a paper bag. 

He responded to Yasu’s cheerful greeting with a nod and a smile and tipped the contents out onto the table. Seven beautiful, faintly blue-tinged potatoes rolled onto the wooden surface to Yasu’s impressed ‘oooh’ and Ohkura’s raised eyebrows. Ohkura smiled at Ryo, his head cocked questioningly and Ryo just ducked his head muttering something about a specialty store and Ohkura wanting to try cooking them. 

Honestly, the blue potatoes didn’t taste all that different from the domestic strains Ohkura was used to but none of them could deny that the simple preparation of soft blue mounds whipped with butter and salt were very pretty. Yasu grinned and informed Ohkura that next time he would pick an easier color like green. 

~~~~~~~~

Summer was creeping up on them again and Ohkura could hardly believe they were a little more than halfway through their course work. The weather was just beginning to turn from pleasantly warm to uncomfortably hot, making his course in global barbecuing techniques less comfortable if not any less interesting. After all, who knows how many opportunities he might get to learn how to roast a whole goat. 

He was on his way to the shower, more than ready to rinse off the grime he had accumulated throughout an afternoon spent crouching over a fire pit, when Yasu bounced in and informed him that he had invited someone over for dinner. Ohkura paused, taking mental stock of the pantry and was just about to ask if there was something specific Yasu wanted when his roommate told him he didn’t have to worry about dinner. 

Yasu was working on an end of term project that paired him up with a Senior year advanced fashion design student. He admitted that he had been bragging more than a little about his fantastic apartment and the kitchen that came with it and of course the culinary student roommate that came with the kitchen. He said Matusmoto-senpai had pretty much jumped at the chance to use a proper kitchen and would it be ok if he came over and made pasta? 

Ohkura was a little leery about the thought of letting someone he didn’t know loose in his kitchen but he supposed he could hang around and make sure the guy didn’t abuse his pantry or equipment. He emerged from the shower to find Yasu chatting with a slender, dark-haired man who looked like he belonged on the runway side of a fashion show. The bag at his feet was emblazoned with the logo of a pricey Italian import store which was either a very good or very bad sign. Either he knew his stuff and wanted quality ingredients or he was a rich brat who assumed that a bunch of expensive foodstuffs automatically make a good meal. 

Matsumoto stood when he entered the kitchen, the older man’s smile a much warmer expression than Ohkura had ever seen on someone wearing an Armani sweater. Ohkura leaned over, trying to surreptitiously scope out the contents of the bag. Matsumoto grinned and asked Ohkura if it would be alright for him to prepare amatriciana, he had brought everything but the basic spices along with him. Ohkura concluded that if he could properly pronounce the dish. Matsumoto probably knew what he was doing, pointed him toward the pots and pans and let him loose. 

The delight he took in using Ohkura’s kitchen was endearing and instead of heading off to his room or watching tv he stayed to talk and watch Matsumoto’s graceful hands blanch and peel tomatoes and chop onions, garlic, and guanciale. He was surprised to see that Matusmoto was using the traditional pork cheeks rather than more easily obtained panchetta or American bacon. Matsumoto chuckled as he splashed red wine into the pan, lighting up the rich aroma of the meat with a sharp, spicy note. He poured the rest of the bottle out into three glasses, and after taking a healthy sip from one of them intoned that if you were going to take the time and energy to cook traditional Italian food, you really ought to do it right. 

Matsumoto definitely knew his way around traditional Italian cooking. His pasta was perfectly prepared- the thick sauce clung to every strand, studded with bright bits of stewed tomato and savory shreds of meat. Ohkura worked his way happily through an enormous plateful while Yasu and Matsumoto discussed their project. He had forgotten how nice it was to have someone else cook for you. He ate food his classmates cooked all the time but he had a hard time turning off the analytical part of his brain; the instructors encouraged them to think through every bite, analyzing the balance of flavors and textures, discerning techniques and the level of skill of the chef. But when a friend cooked for you, all that mattered was the care that went into the dish, the respect for the ingredients and affection for the people eating it. 

Ohkura was nearly silent until he finished, finally pushing his empty plate away with a satisfied groan. Matsumoto looked up from the notebook he and Yasu had been poring over and, fixing Ohkura with a small, ever so slightly anxious smile, asked if dinner was ok. Ohkura told him sincerely that he was welcome to come feed them any time and couldn’t help but return Matsumoto’s beaming smile. 

Later, as Yasu was showing him to the door, Matsumoto got in one more parting shot. He grinned winningly over his shoulder, eyes alight with what might have been mischief, as he slipped into his stylish loafers and informed Ohkura that Ryo-chan was absolutely right, Ohkura _was_ really cute. He didn’t know which thought to process first: that casual, acerbic Ryo and the confident, elegant Matsumoto were friends, that they were the kind of friends who talked about boys, or that when Ryo talked about boys _he_ was apparently a topic of conversation. He did his best impression of a goldfish, frozen gaping-mouthed, holding the door open as Yasu and Matsumoto’s laughter mingled in the warm evening air. 

~~~~~~~~

Ohkura was a man on a mission. He had already been to Ryo’s room, the music library, the regular library, and Ryo’s favorite coffee shop. He briefly considered checking Ryo’s favorite bar but dismissed it as an unlikely place for him to be at 1:30 in the afternoon, even during finals.... probably. He wanted to find the musician before the food he was carrying, carefully packaged and wrapped in a colorful furoshiki (liberally spotted with bunnies, courtesy of Yasu), got cold. 

On his second stop by the musician’s room (just in case he had returned while Ohkura was traipsing around town) he got to talk to Ryo’s roommate, Yokoyama, who told him a bit sheepishly that Ryo took off because he had been practicing a script for his radio broadcasting project and had driven his roommate to distraction. Yokoyama gave him a long considering look, (“So _you’re_ Ohkura. Isn’t he usually at your place?”), before pointing him in the direction of a quiet courtyard where Ryo sometimes went to practice. 

He found Ryo cross-legged under a stately birch with his guitar slung across his lap but fingers lax on the strings. Ohkura gently placed the bento down and tossed himself to the grass, stretching out with a blustery sigh. He told Ryo that he really ought to be doing something sensible like eating lunch rather than staring off into space and he was far too skinny to be skipping meals. 

Ryo rolled his eyes but set his guitar aside, pulling the bento closer and unwrapping it, clever fingers making short work of fabric knots. Ohkura had his eyes closed and head pillowed on his arms in a distinctive display of nonchalance but he couldn’t help cracking his eyes open just enough to watch Ryo inspect the lunch. He had made kaarage, one of Ryo’s favorites. Despite the shorter man’s incredibly unsubtle hints, Ohkura had never once made it for him in all the time he spent visiting at their place. He wanted Ryo to know that when he did, it was special. 

The musician took only a moment to direct a heart-stopping grin at Ohkura, who had given up trying to seem like he wasn’t watching Ryo’s reaction, before digging in - popping a piece in his mouth and emitting a groan of almost obscene pleasure. He munched quickly through two more pieces before Ohkura wryly reminded him that there was more than just chicken, much to Ryo’s delight (“Is this mayonnaise? Did you _make_ mayonnaise?!” “It’s aioli” “Which is....?” “Garlicky mayonnaise. More or less.”). 

Ohkura hauled himself up to sit shoulder to shoulder with Ryo, contentedly watching him devour a morning’s handiwork. When every scrap was gone Ryo packed the box back up, re-wrapping it and carefully setting it aside, before turning to Ohkura with a happy sigh and a small, sunlit smile. Ohkura didn’t give him a chance to thank him verbally- he much preferred his plan of leaning over to take his thanks from Ryo’s lips in a soft kiss. Ryo didn’t hesitate at all, melting into the caress and angling his body so he could move closer. 

Strong fingers gripped Ohkura’s shoulder as Ryo opened his mouth under Ohkura’s. He lost track of time as they came together again and again, tongues dancing and breath mingling. It probably wasn’t very romantic that Ohkura could taste his cooking on Ryo’s lips but he was perversely pleased by the thought. He remarked as much to Ryo when he pulled away just enough to catch his breath (“You taste like mayonnaise.” “You mean I taste _awesome_. Besides, I have it on good authority that it’s aioli.”). They shared a grin and another round of kisses that made Ohkura’s stomach flutter in a way that he’d thought had gone the way of his first crush before he slumped down, settling his head on Ryo’s shoulder mumbling something about a well deserved afternoon nap. 

Ryo laughed low and golden and picked up his guitar, situating it so the head only poked Ohkura in the stomach a little bit, and set his hand to drifting through chords. Ohkura nodded off to the strains of a quiet and simple love song, Ryo’s perfect husky voice warm in his ear. 

~~~~~~~~

It was the end of their third year and time was flying. Ohkura felt like there was always too much to do and not enough time in which to do it. His studies demanded almost all of his attention but he strove to study smarter not longer, fighting for every scrap of free time. He knew there would be years after school dedicated to his career, long hours and longer days spent honing his craft in the kitchen of a master. 

He didn’t want his entire school life to be consumed with work, even work he enjoyed. So he carved out time, those precious hours in the evenings staying up late to gossip with Yasu about campus scandals; meeting their friends at their bar for beers, a casual eye on the baseball game; weekend mornings staying in bed for just another hour or two with Ryo. 

His instructors had always praised his knife skills, he had very deft hands they said. He could break down a chicken in about forty seconds flat, he could pare potatoes with his eyes closed, he was captivated by the machine gun rapid sound of his knife on the board when he brunoised onions. He told himself with a smirk that he was making good use of his time when he was in bed, improving his manual dexterity, two fingers deep in Ryo, the dark haired musician writhing and showing off his considerable vocal range. 

They talked about everything there, tangled up together in Ohkura’s narrow bed. It was like the lack of space between them made words flow more easily, less distance for them to travel from one mind to another. Ohkura mentioned Yasu’s sudden brilliant idea to scrap his submission for the end of the year art show, a requirement for him passing the term. He had turned around last week and suddenly hated everything about the lush, surrealistic landscape he had spent countless hours on for months and decided what he _really_ wanted to do was metal sculpture. Ohkura could feel Ryo’s laugh snug against his chest as he replied that Yasu with a welder’s torch would be downright terrifying-Ohkura couldn’t bring himself to disagree. Ryo countered with the news that Subaru had finally formally declared his concentration in jazz guitar and vocals. The professor who had spent pretty much the entire time since he had stepped into his audition nudging him towards the change was thrilled. Ohkura liked that Ryo let him prattle on about whatever he was excited about learning this week and he would happily listen to Ryo’s technical jargon laden comparisons of composing software. 

Ohkura would miss being a student, the luxury of being able to snatch that time between activities to laze around in his lover’s arms. Ironically, they often spent it talking about what they wanted to do after graduation. Ryo was an incredible songwriter, in most peoples’ estimation not just Ohkura’s. He knew he could make a living writing songs for other people, populating the top forty charts with his musical signature, but he also wanted to find a label that would take a chance on him and let him record his own albums. He confided in Ohkura one overcast afternoon, the sound of rain pattering against the window and the pearly grey half-light contributing to the already intimate atmosphere, bare arms and legs comfortably intertwined beneath the sheets. The professors discouraged them from spending too much time worrying about their careers until later on in their schooling but he had already started sending out demos. 

In turn he told Ryo that while he intended to gain enough skill and notoriety to own his own restaurant someday his real goal was to get good enough to travel to America as a challenger on _Iron Chef_ (“It ended in Japan when I was a kid and I don’t want to miss my chance to compete with Morimoto-sama”). 

He knew what they had going was a very good thing. He wasn’t the kind of person who made assumptions about the future, he didn’t know for sure if their relationship would continue to go well or not. Sometimes he wondered if it whatever they were building would be strong enough to survive in the world beyond this artistic haven of theirs. 

Ohkura didn’t assume they would work out in the long run, but he did hope. 

~~~~~~~~

The first half of their last year in school they found themselves nudged further into their respective fields. Subaru and Ryo both had regular required recitals for their classical instrument studies, Baru was playing with a jazz combo late on Friday nights, and they were both amassing catalogues of original compositions. Ryo would spend long hours in one of the school’s recording studios laying down guitar and vocal tracks, staying late to tweak drums and background fill on his computer. Yasu was working part time as the assistant to a sculptor who worked in stone, glass, and metal. He would come home sporting an odd variety of nicks and cuts and a huge grin. 

Ohkura found himself placed in an internship at a fairly high level pan-Asian fusion restaurant in the city. He spent three and a half incredibly intense months on the line improving his skills and picking up new ones. It was much different cooking on the line, much harder, much more exhilarating; and he knew this was what he wanted, that rush when the kitchen is running at full tilt and everything is going well. The executive chef was a bit of a slave driver but he was brilliant and he didn’t mind listening to some of Ohkura’s ideas even though he was still a student. He would drag himself home from the restaurant quite late most nights and drop straight into bed, sometimes not even registering when there was someone already in it. And even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t stop his mind from processing new ideas for recipes, some of which he felt compelled to test out immediately. 

Ryo cursed at him sleepily for the better part of an hour one night until Ohkura shoved a plate of spicy pork and apple gyoza under his nose. He complained a bit less about Ohkura’s nocturnal experiments after that. It was usually only the ones he could tell were going to be really good that would actually get him out of bed. The dumplings had even made it onto the restaurant’s menu for that week. 

The last night before summer break Yasu’s apprenticeship culminated in a small gallery show. He had been obsessing over a series of metal and glass animal sculptures for weeks leading up to the show. He was frazzled and short tempered, snapping even at Baru for whom his patience was legendary, and Ohkura knew they were all looking forward not only to seeing his work, but seeing his good humor restored. Especially now that he owned tin snips and glass-cutting tools. 

His show went extremely well, his professors raved about his thematic vision for the show and flat out told him that he had never done work this good in his previous mediums. Ohkura, Ryo, and Subaru hung back, enjoying watching Yasu flit around the room glowingly collecting praise and expounding with fellow students and local artists on composition, and competing among themselves to see who could spout the most high flown artsy descriptions of things with a straight face. 

They all walked home together later, their cheerful laughter bouncing off the quiet streets and buildings, just a little tipsy from the gallery’s complimentary champagne. Yasu announced from his perch on Ohkura’s back (Yasu may have been slightly more than tipsy) that he had sold several of his pieces tonight and he intended to blow some of his first earnings as a _working artist_ on a real summer party, seeing as how it was one of their last chances to do so as carefree college students. 

They had driven out to a nearby park and set up by the lake. Ohkura presided over a wide charcoal grill, the cherry red coals glowing warm in the twilight. He had probably overdone it a little with kabobs, several whole grilled fish, and marinated steak, to say nothing of the basket of salads and snacks, but it never hurt to overestimate the amount of food seven or eight twenty-something guys could devour. Especially when several cases of beer and Ohkura’s personal margarita recipe were involved. 

Ryo’s roommate Yokoyama had come along as well as a few of their friends from the theatre department. Yasu was currently supervising as they cleared space on the sandy shore to set off fireworks, Baru’s hand firmly clasped in his despite the other man’s reluctance to be very close to Yoko and explosives. 

Ohkura and Ryo were content to stand back behind the grill, guarding the dying coals from any chance of interacting with the fireworks and enjoying the residual heat. They all cheered as the first of the fireworks went up in a blaze of white and gold and crimson, bursting about twenty feet up and casting brilliant reflections on the water. 

He breathed in deep enjoying the mingling aromas of sizzling meat, sweet summer grass, the sharp metallic scent of burning pyrotechnics, and Ryo’s spicy cologne. Ryo grumbled asking if Ohkura was being weird and sniffing him again, he just laughed and squeezed his arms a little tighter across Ryo’s stomach. The way the shorter man rolled his head back against Ohkura’s shoulder giving him clear access to nuzzle down along his neck made it clear that he didn’t really mind Ohkura’s brand of weird. 

Ohkura smiled fondly as his friends lit sparklers, chasing each other around like overgrown kids, and let his thoughts wander. He tended to think about most aspects of his life in relation to food and tonight was no exception. He watched Yasu draw fanciful pictures in bright light before his sparkler burned down and thought that his friendship with his roommate was surprising, like eating something that looked for all the world like it was going to be savory and finding out it was a dessert instead. Yasu was a delicate sugary pastry of a person but the most pleasant surprise was that his sweetness wasn’t cloying and in three and a half years Ohkura had never gotten sick of him. He and Subaru were perfectly complimentary flavors, cinnamon and sugar or strawberries and cream. They were both enjoyable separately but so much better together. 

He and Ryo were more like quirky, strong flavors that when put together, instead of competing for dominance, actually mellowed each other out, blending together and creating a new, more complicated taste. He had never told Ryo that he thought of him as the coffee to his chocolate: nuanced and complex, occasionally sharp and bitter, but absolutely the first thing Ohkura wanted to wake up to. He had a feeling Ryo would roll his eyes and elbow him in the stomach, but the accompanying blush would probably be worth it. 

They all ended up stretched out on the grass, comfortably and haphazardly slumped on and around each other, looking up at the stars and scribing their names and nonsense symbols on the sky with the last of the sparklers. He figured most college friendships were like sake, enjoyable in the short term but not really built to last as people changed and outgrew each other. But they were special. Like a barrel of konshu tucked into a hidden shop corner, he was sure that decades would only improve them, time imparting their interactions with a rare honeyed sweetness. 

Ohkura squeezed Yasu’s hand where it was intertwined with his and shifted a little so Ryo’s head rested more comfortably against his shoulder as they picked up the chorus of the song Baru was singing. It was an old familiar cradle song, made sweeter by the soft star-studded night pressing in around them. Ohkura reveled in the warmth he could feel from the inside out and knew he was looking forward to enjoying this flavor for years to come.


End file.
